


That's The Ticket

by Roche715



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28236591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roche715/pseuds/Roche715
Summary: They’ve made it kind of a tradition to visit arcades.
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	That's The Ticket

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Paper Clip and DPO

They’ve made it kind of a tradition to visit arcades. It started back after that case with the kid that was struck by lightning, just after Melissa had been killed. After that first night in the hospital, when she had let him hold her in her grief, Scully hadn’t brought it up again. She had returned to work, business as usual. Cool, calm, collected Dana Scully, ready to move forward and get the job done.

He had figured that she would do that, and no amount of _‘I’m fines’_ could keep him from being worried about how she was doing. She had been approved to work by the bureau therapist, but Mulder had suspicions about her honesty in the required therapy session. He wouldn’t put it past her to lie about how she was coping, mask her pain so that she could return to work. He knew the guilt he felt, the guilt he always felt when something bad happened to her because her work with him, could not compare to what she must feel, knowing that a bullet meant for her took her sister’s life instead. Losing a sister was an experience that could only bring heartache, something he had first-hand knowledge of. 

On the surface she was fine, investigating the case with her typical scientific rationalism, but Mulder had noticed a difference in her. The occasional vacant stare, a feeling of melancholy encroaching on the bouts of comfortable silence they usually shared. He knows better than to voice any concern about her wellbeing to her face. Nothing will make her pull away faster. Hiding the parts of her that are the rawest, the most sensitive, turning in on herself like a snail exposed to salt. Still, he wanted to do something for her, help her through that time when he knew she was suffering.

On top of his concern for her, he was also apprehensive about taking a case, recalling nervously the way she threw herself into the disastrous case of Luther Lee Boggs not even a day after her father’s funeral, as well as their run-in with volcanic life forms after she was returned from her abduction. Not exactly the best track record for returning to work after trauma.

Fortunately, the case wrapped up relatively smoothly.

**********

Everything in mind, he spent most of the trip brainstorming ways to cheer her up, something he could do to take her mind off things. The idea came to him when they were halfway through the case, and luck was on his side in timing. They were left with some downtime before the flight returning to D.C.

He was able to coax her into a trip back to the arcade, albeit only after a drink or two (or three or four) at the local bar. He had learned a while ago that tipsy Scully was slightly more suggestible than sober Scully- even then, she was still ten times harder to convince than the average person. He took pride in the one time he had gotten her to agree that it was highly improbable that bigfoot existed, but not impossible.

**********

First, they played a shooting game, something silly where the only goal was to mow down as many zombies as possible. She blew him out of the water, as expected. It wasn’t too long ago that he gained firsthand knowledge of how steady her shot was.

 _“Good to know that I can call you if I’m ever being swarmed by zombies,”_ he quipped. He had hoped for a smile but took the eye roll he got instead, the soft scrunch of her features giving off a playfulness he hadn’t seen in her for a while.

Next up was Skee-ball. He hoped to show her up there. He hadn’t yet had a chance to show off his skill with bowling, and Skee-ball was just bowling with smaller balls, right?

_“I’m for sure gonna beat you here, Scully.”_

She watched him hit a 10 with all nine balls, the rollicking sound of her laughter mingling with the electronic blips of game cabinets and his increasingly disgruntled grumbles.

She had smiled, teeth on full display when she beat him at basketball. It was close but it had all gone downhill when he tried to impress her, stepping back for a jump shot that bounced of the metal bar at the top of the machine and only narrowly missed whacking him in the head.

 _“Of course, I won Mulder, which one of us is an expert at physics?”_ He had blamed it on the four (or 5 maybe 6?) shots of vodka from earlier. He had a feeling she knew he threw the game.

**********

On the way to the ticket counter, he had shoved his potion of the winnings into her hands.

_“Here are my tickets. Go crazy, Scully. You beat me in everything anyway, you deserve it.”_

They didn’t have much to show individually but he had hoped that she would get something nice—as nice as could be expected in a crummy arcade in a random small town in Oklahoma— with their combined tickets. While for a second her face had set-up ready to protest, she seemed to reconsider, nodded, and approached the prize counter briskly.

As with everything in her life, she had inspected the items in the glass case with careful consideration, fastidious, bending over to get a closer look. He tried his best to resist getting a closer look at her bending over.

In the end, she had gotten two temporary tattoos — _“One for you and one for me”_ — little green aliens with big eyes and big heads. His face already hurt from smiling when she said, _“Too bad the skin tone is wrong. Amateurs.”_

**********

She had pulled him into the bathroom of her motel room by the hand, giddy, way more excited about applying the tattoos than he had expected. _“Where will you put yours, Mulder?”_ she had asked, turning and twisting his body, searching for the right spot. And he’d shrugged, content to let her choose if it meant he’d get to spend more time being manhandled by her. Soon she decided on his bicep, helping him shrug out of his jacket, rolling up the sleeve of the grey t-shirt he wore underneath.

 _“Excellent choice, Scully. That’s where all the tough guys get tattoos.”_ He flexed for her benefit, and that adorable scrunch of her face was back from earlier, this time with a small grin. She placed the small square on his arm, wet a washcloth, and pressed into his skin. He spent the two minutes watching her chase the water droplets that skated down his arm with one slender pointer finger.

Sliding the slimy sheet of paper off his arm, she inspected her work, smiling up at him and he smiled right back, so very happy at how well the night was going. So happy that he’d finally given something to her— happiness, a distraction from every fucked-up part of the lives they lived, the life he pulled her into — when so far all he’s seemed to do was take from her.

This all made it even more alarming when her face crumbled, and she stood gripping his arm with all her might, fat tears streaming down her face.

**********

He hadn’t known what to do— he rarely ever did when it came to her— when she had started crying. After a moment of panic, he decided to do what he always did when this happened. He enveloped her in his arms, and she’d hugged him back, and they’d stood clinging to each other in the bathroom until her silent weeping had subsided. The night had ended with a soft _“I think I’d like to go to sleep now, Mulder.”_ , and the next morning they’d made their way back to D.C., never again to speak about the evening shared.

It was supposed to be a spur of the moment thing, just to distract her in a time when he knew she was having a rough time. But following their returning home, for days after he would look at her, serious as could be in her earth-tone suits, and fall headfirst into daydreams of their time spent shelling out quarters and gathering tickets. Wishing he could see her so happy again. Wishing that the night had ended differently. It wasn’t his intention to make the visits to arcades a regular thing. And with the way the night ended he figured it wouldn’t be something she would want to do again.

Or so he thought. She turned up to his apartment a week later for one of their Saturday afternoon case reviews—aka Mulder eating the lion’s share of whatever takeout was ordered and spouting off his most extreme theories to force a squabble.

Afternoon turned into evening and the pleasant rays of light that had been filtering in all day disappeared, prompting Mulder to flick on the lamp. It was just about the time when Scully would normally sigh then stand up to make her way to the door. As expected, she shifted, sorting papers back into file folders. _“I should head home.”_ He had risen, as was usual, to walk her to the door, and was surprised when she stayed seated, looking up at him. _“There is something I want to do first.”_ He couldn’t hide his surprise when she pulled the tiny alien tattoo out of her pocket.

 _“We should do it again sometime,”_ she said as she made her exit, stamped with the extraterrestrial motif on her forearm.

_“I had fun."_

**********

So, it has become a semi-regular thing —if they have time after wrapping up a case—to scope out the town, see if there is an arcade, and visit it if there is. Each time they pool the tickets, trading off the task of choosing a matching prize.

In Utah Scully gets a bundle of clip-on hair extensions — _“This glittery green one will really bring out the highlights in your eyes._ ” In Delaware, Mulder gets them disguises, round-framed glasses with a big nose and mustache attached — _“Now we can swing back around to get more samples at the supermarket.”_ In Nebraska, Scully takes delight in slapping him across the face with one of those jelly-like sticky hands on a string.

He teaches her how to yo-yo, she teaches him cat's cradle, and they both struggle with mastering the paddle ball.

A collection of experiences represented by a collection of things. A collection of things that represent something that he’s given to her.


End file.
